


under stars

by stelleri



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleri/pseuds/stelleri
Summary: Harry’s fortunate he wound up with a man just as sentimental as he is.
Relationships: John Bridgens/Henry "Harry" Peglar
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23
Collections: Bridglar Week 2021, The Terror Bingo





	under stars

**Author's Note:**

> for the bridglar week prompt 'evening comfortabel very', and also the terror bingo prompt 'love confessions'

They decide to take the long route home, past the waterfront. It had been raining hard, earlier, but now the night sky arcs clear above them, just crisp enough that John lets go of Harry’s hand to loop his arm around him instead. 

Their little corner of the country is just dark enough for scattered stars, so Harry tilts his head back to admire them. John’s side presses against his, his arm warm and solid around Harry’s waist, nudging them around puddles and cracks in the pavement. Not that he really needs to; Harry could make his way backwards and blindfolded by now, with how often they’ve walked home exactly like this. 

They stop to lean against the railing, staring out at the black sea. Harry does, anyways; he can feel John’s eyes on the side of his face, watching him. When Harry glances over, eyebrow raised, John just looks content, his eyes crinkling fondly when he sees Harry looking back. 

It’s all a bit much, all of a sudden. The comfortable stillness, the crashing waves below them, the low rumble of distant cars. John, half-lit by streetlights and looking at him like that. Harry can’t help but tug John’s scarf down for a kiss, quick and chaste. John’s arms loop around him, keeping him close so he can steal a kiss of his own. 

“I love you,” John says quietly, plainly, against his mouth. He doesn’t say it all that often, preferring touch and poetry and gentle demonstration. And that’s good too, far better than platitudes, but Harry’s breath still catches, a little, as it always does. 

“Marry me, John.” He doesn’t mean to say it, didn’t plan on it going quite like this, but – well, he’s not going to take it _back_. John’s eyebrows go up, surprised, before he crushes Harry to his chest with enough force to lift his heels off the ground. 

“Yes, yes,” John murmurs hoarsely, as though there’s actually any doubt. Harry grins around a mouthful of hair. John’s breath is shaky in his ear, so Harry gives him a moment before tilting his head to kiss the corner of John’s mouth, his cold cheek. 

He’s sure he’s never seen a sweeter smile on John’s face, a small giddy thing that he doesn’t try to hide. John cups Harry’s face with a warm palm and cold fingers, his thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. His other hand settles on the small of Harry's back, heavy and solid even through his sweater. 

“No ring? That’s not very traditional of you,” John teases, his voice still a little rough. 

“I _do_ have one, just didn't want you to find it yet. I had a plan, you know, thought I’d quote some Oliver or Austen or something...” Harry says, without much real disappointment. 

John looks touched anyways; Harry's plans might have fallen through, but they know each other. John can guess, quite easily, what Harry might recite, the sorts of literature they’ve both found meaningful over the years. He looks away from Harry for the first time since they stopped, out over the water, as if that’s going to stop Harry from noticing that he’s gone faintly pink from more than the cold. Harry can’t help but tug him down to kiss him again, thinks that he might have to propose properly when they get home if John’s this affected by his stumbling. 

“You didn’t have to hide it, you know,” John says when Harry lets him go, all fond amusement. 

“Yeah, but I got it right around when Tom Hartnell was visiting.” He never would’ve heard the end of it if Tom thought he was too sentimental _or_ too casual about it. He’ll probably never hear the end of it as it is. “Put it behind the sharps bin for the weekend and, uh, kept forgetting to grab it.”

He’d gotten nervous, too, in a way he hadn’t since the early days of their relationship. Even though they’ve talked about it and looked at rings and joked about how it’s all just a formality at this point, really. A bit of paperwork to make it official. At least Harry isn’t the only one who was, perhaps, lying about how significant it all felt. 

“Anyways. How do you feel about a spring wedding? We could dip into the rare book fund –” John’s face twists, somewhere between horrified and scandalized, then slides into a familiar sort of long-suffering resignation when Harry laughs. 

“We all have to make sacrifices, John. I mean, I'll have to change my name again.” Easier paperwork, this time around, but well worth it either way. 

“You don't _have_ to,” John says dryly. Harry scoffs. 

“I _want_ to. I like the sound of Harry Bridgens.” John goes all sweet and soft-eyed at that, and Harry’s sure he looks just as bad. He’s fortunate he wound up with a man just as sentimental as he is. 

It’s a shame they’re still outside. He wants very badly to hug John properly, so he can feel the warmth of his body, his heartbeat. Instead he’s hindered by John’s scarf and heavy coat, and his hands are too cold to be fully welcome even through John's shirt. He settles for another kiss, tangling his hands in John’s hair to keep him close. 


End file.
